


Snapshots

by Lt_Cmdr_Scribbler



Category: Star Wars Legends: The Old Republic
Genre: Additional Tags to Be Added, Aric really hates that planet, Established Relationship, F/M, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Inter-Faction Shenanigans, Life Day themes, Nar Shaddaa, Pub Crawl, Sharing Warmth on Hoth cliche, Sickfic, Sketchy Pasts that Nobody really wants to explain, Slice of Life, Varactyls, WIP, Xenophilia, but it's not in the NSFW kind of way, implied PTSD, seasonal fluff, slight injury, sort of
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-04-11
Updated: 2016-10-07
Packaged: 2018-06-01 18:02:17
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 8
Words: 4,412
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6530335
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lt_Cmdr_Scribbler/pseuds/Lt_Cmdr_Scribbler
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Prompts about my SWTOR characters taken from Tumblr.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. "Just Because" Ronadia (Fem!JK)/Fideltin

**Author's Note:**

> #24 of "One Hundred Ways to Say I Love You."

Ronadia woke up at all once, bolting up in bed and in a cold sweat. Her heart was beating too fast, and Fideltin wasn't next to her this morning. She sighed, disappointed, but not surprised. She pulled a fluffy pale blue robe over her tank top and shorts and straightened her hair slightly before leaving her too-large, too-quiet quarters. _Definitely shouldn't have accepted the apartment from Master Shan,_ she thought ruefully. _It may be spacious, but it's too quiet and cold and..._ glowing?

Truly enough, the usually-dour apartment was lined elegantly with fairy lights, softly illuminating the halls. Some were soft green, blue, or white, but Rona found a note stuck to the wall outside of her room. In bold, precise script was written, **Follow the blue lights.**

Rona smiled a little, and followed the blue glow through the halls, ending at the entrance to the common room. The doors opened with a _shhhh_ , and Rona stepped through to find a thoroughly unexpected sight.

Kira was floating brightly coloured ornaments onto the branches of a wroshyr tree, while Doc was stringing flowers into a garland. Scourge had been apparently regulated to spreading sugary icing onto sugar cookies, which he was doing without too much of a glower. Teeseven wasn't anywhere to be found, but Fideltin was wrapping presents in green, red, white, and gold patterned flimsi. It looked terribly domestic and frankly beautiful in the light of Coruscant's rising sun.

Rona rubbed away any sleep clinging to her eyes, and walked haltingly into the room. Fideltin's head turned to her direction as if she had called out to him, and a small smile grew on his face as he saw her. Carefully setting down the scissors, he stepped over the modest piles of presents and made his way over to Ronadia. Ronadia let herself be wrapped in Fideltin's secure arms, and hummed as he pressed a kiss on her hair.

"What brought this on?" she murmured.

Fideltin smiled brightly now. "Just because."


	2. "doN'T GO TO WORK YOU ARE SICK" Mai'lynnda (Fem!BH)/Gault

_Being your own boss is so much fun,_ Mai mused as she lay in bed. It had to be at least 11:20, Mako hadn't called, and the secure family holo hadn't rung. Life was pretty good, she thought.

That was, until she tried to stand up. Her sinuses protested, but why should she listen? She had a Mandalorian blood-traitor to hunt down, and, more importantly, a bet to win.

Mai didn't really feel her foot touch the ground, but that didn't stop her from putting another foot in front of her. Unfortunately, neither of those two facts kept her from tumbling face-first through the door and down the short flight of stairs connecting her room to the rest of the ship.

It was a credit to her crew how soon that got a reaction. Mako ran out of the bridge, and Mai could faintly hear Gault's footsteps on the stairs connecting the Serpent's floors. As her crew approached, Mai did a diagnostic. Her lekku were bruised slightly, which couldn't be good. Her ribs felt bruised, which wasn't great either. Not to mention the fact that her sinuses felt like they were made out of coarse uxibeast wool.

"Mai? Mai, are you okay?" Mako's voice seemed more pitch-y than normal, and Mai winced. _Probable concussion,_ she thought.  

"Give her room, give her room," she heard Gault mutter, and she smiled. Mai felt his hands settle on her shoulders, and gently lift her up to a sitting position. 

Gault winced as he looked over Mai's face, and she dead-panned. "Is it going to leave a mark?"

That made him laugh, and Mai grinned widely. "I'll get you some pain pills and some kolto wraps," he said, shaking his head.

Mai waved her hands frantically, grasping the handrails of the stairs. "I'm good, I'm good," she insisted. "I'll be fine after the pain meds. We have to hunt down Jicoln."

Gault gave her a _bitch, please_ -kind of look, the kind Mai would usually give contracts right before she turned them down. "No. You're not setting foot on the swampy armpit of the galaxy when you just injured yourself."

“And you only injure yourself like a clumsy drunkard when you're sick,” Mako added, and muttered further, “You're more graceful than that when you're drunk, even.”

Mai attempted a descent pleading look, but she sneezed, violently, nearly knocking herself over. Mako snorted with amusement a few feet away, and Mai sent her a glare. Before Mai knew what was happening, Gault wrapped his arms around her: one under her knees and one under her shoulders. 

"Case in point," he insisted, and he gently lifted her up and descended down the stairs toward the medbay.

"Noooooo," Mai whined, pressing her head into his shoulder. Wrapped up in his arms like she was, she could feel Gault's laugh against her entire body. Her head didn't like it much, but the stupid-sappy-feelings part of her heart fluttered."Mother hens, the both of you."


	3. "oh, there's that creep. Quick, hold my hand and he might not come over here." Demona (Fem!Tropper)/Aric

Aric Jorgan _hated_ Nar Shaddaa. A week ago, he had merely disliked it. Outright hate had grown in the week he’d been here, watching Jonas Balkar flirt with Demona, taking down drug syndicates, and talking to damn Hutts. Demona took it in her stride, of course, with a tightly polite smile and the occasional snarky aside in Jorgan’s direction.

But what he hated most, absolutely, was the fact that Demona, Lieutenant Cal’edra Zhang, _Senator Zenith Zhang_ ’s golden child, apparently had a past here, on this dung-heap. Aric wasn't entirely sure why this pissed him off so much, but he bristled every time she pointed out a building she remembered, a gang sign that she recognised, or a Hutt she once insulted.

They were walking down the Promenade in civvies when the weirdest thing happened. Aric didn't even _want_ to be in his civvies, but Demona apparently wanted to show him a dive that she knew, one that she had good memories of. Aric didn't really _want_ to know how she had good memories of a bar when she had been adopted by a Jedi and a Senator when she was ten, but he’d learned to stop questioning her about Nar Shaddaa. It just wasn't worth it. Anyway, they were going to a bar that Demona knew, and Dorne had stayed behind to run through the medical requisition paperwork. If Dorne had come with them, this probably wouldn't have happened.

Demona was chattering happily by his side, looking younger than her twenty-five years, when she froze up, hands in mid-motion and a half-grin frozen with a hint of terror in her eyes. He followed her line of sight to a Zabrak boy about his age, five-ish years older than Demona. The Zabrak had the tell-tale signs of spice abuse, the discolouration around the lips and the yellowed whites of his eyes. A large vibrosword was strapped to the guy’s back. All signs pointed to this particular dirtbag being the average Nar Shaddaa scum, but if he made Demona nervous, then Aric was extremely prepared to give this guy a beat-down.

“Oh, frak, there’s that creep. Quick, hold my hand and maybe he won’t come over here,” Demona babbled, grabbing Aric’s hand tightly and walking briskly toward the bar she was headed for.

That was… an unusual response. “Um, sir… who the hell is that guy?”

Demona sighed with frustration. “You know when you’re a kid and you think that stupid things are cool? I thought he was cool. I joined his gang. He wasn’t cool. He beat on me, and then I beat on him.”

It clicked then. “...And we’re in civvies, armed with pistols, and in no condition to fight a gang.”

“Yep. And he kinda has a thing for me now? Weird, I know, but if he sees me holding hands with a big, strong Cathar, he’ll think maybe four times before approaching. He's one of those 'never learns his lesson' types, unsurprisingly."

"Alright, then." If it made Demona sure her freaky ex wouldn't bother them on their night out, alright. If it comforted Demona, alright. Since her hand felt warm and strong and graceful in his larger hand, then alright. he'd hold her hand. 


	4. "your hands are warm" Za'leila (Fem!Consular)/Zenith

If you asked anyone to picture a Twi’lek on Hoth, you'd probably receive poorly-muffled laughter and sympathetic looks in response. Any doctor would tell you that with the Twi’leks’ complete lack of body hair and with their inability to wear conventional headgear, it was downright _unsafe_ for a Twi’lek to be on Hoth for anything longer than two hours, tops.

Unfortunately, Zenith and Za’leila found themselves in the middle of the tundra, marching through the snow toward their next objective. Nadia Grell had been kind enough to present both Twi’leks with lekku-warmers, black in colour because dark colours kept heat better. Zenith had initially been opposed to the lekku-warmers, but after a stern talking to from Doctor Cedrax about what frostbite would do to his lekku, Zenith relented. It wasn't the amused and cheerful glint in Za’leila’s eyes as he put them on that changed his mind. Not at all.

They rode tauntauns through the storms, and spending the nights huddled up to the beasts next to the heating module they brought kept them alive, if not slightly comfortable. Their journey back to Outpost Aurek was going quite well, right until the wampa incident.

The cave Zenith picked out for the night wasn't spacious, but it was serviceable. There were no bones on the floor, which meant that none of the local wildlife had claimed it recently. By all accounts, it was fine. They should have been fine.

Unfortunately, this was not the case. Zenith was jolted awake to the sound of a thunderous roar, and by Za’leila’s strangled scream. The wampa that had strolled into their cave was not happy, and was holding Leila upside down by the ankles.

Adrenaline cleared Zenith’s head slightly, and he grabbed the first weapon his could reach: his sniper rifle. He power up the plasma core, took aim, and fired.

The impact made the wampa shake its head, but it did little else. The wampa’s head began to smoke, but the beast didn’t stumbled or fall. It only roared again, louder this time, and in pain. Zenith cursed under his breath and fired again, which finally caused the wampa to drop Za’leila, who immediately shimmered out of sight as she hit a snowbank.

The wampa took a shaky step forward, and Zenith was ready to take another shot when the beast shouted in pain and took several lumbering steps back, red blood seeping from a gaping wound in its foot. The green glow of Leila’s lightsaber appeared where the wampa’s foot had just been, she her body gradually shimmered back into view as it left the cave, trailing blood.

Zenith went to Leila’s side and inspected her for injuries. She was shaky and pale, and her breaths were shallow, but he didn't see any injuries. Still, he asked her, “You alright?”

She swallowed thickly, and nodded. “Just a little shaken up,” she muttered. Zenith shifted his weight, preparing to move away, but Za’leila latched into his hand. She murmured something barely audible, but Zenith caught the words, “ ‘m ‘fraid of heights.”

Zenith stared, blinked, and kept staring. He didn’t presume to really know Za’leila very well, (he’d only been on her crew for a month now, anyway,) but this was the first time he’d seen her shrink into herself like this. He’d seen something similar in some resistance members on Balmorra. They would stop responding to someone talking to them, with something… broken in their eyes. Being suspended in the air by the wampa must’ve triggered something truly traumatic for Za’leila, normally steady and somber, to crack like this.

Hesitantly, Zenith eased himself into a sitting posture to the left and just behind Leila. She was still holding on to his hand, making some kind of repetitive motion with her fingers. Too late, Zenith realised that she was taking his glove off of his hand. The cold felt suffocating around his exposed skin, but Za’leila quickly took off her own gloves and wrapped her hands around his. She hummed and closed her eyes, the lines of her face relaxing into genuine serenity, not the facade that she exuded to keep her Public Jedi-face intact. Zenith wasn't really sure why, but the next moment found himself tugging his second glove off with his teeth, and wrapping it around Leila's hands. She hummed again, and laid her forehead against his shoulder. 

"Your hands are warm," she murmured sleepily.

He barked out a laugh, and it sounded rough with disuse. "Well, I'm glad something is. I'll call the base and tell him to send a shuttle, alright? Get some sleep."

It was apparent that Za'leila was truly out of sorts, because she didn't argue with him, simply breathed deeply to slow her heart rate. Eventually, when Leila's breath slowed enough that Zenith was sure that she was asleep, he whispered, "Sleep tight, Za'leila."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The ending's a little rushed, but I really wanted some to write Zenleila cuddles. The angst was a little accidental.


	5. "Okay, well, I know that the mess over there was entirely YOUR fault" Ronadia/Fideltin

Fideltin stared blankly at the wreckage around his wife, and blinked slowly. The floor-to-ceiling window in the living room was completely shattered, with scythes of transparisteel scattered across the floor. Ronadia was standing the the middle of the room, arms outstretched towards three floating varactyls, who were actively struggling against Rona’s Force-hold.

“Ronadia.”

Rona knew from experience that that particular tone of voice from Fideltin meant _how the hell did this become my life,_ with a generous dash of _my wife is insane and I’m not sure if that’s good or bad at this point._  She smiled brightly at her husband, as if that would convince him that _no, this is not a situation that merits your immediate attention, Fideltin, dearest._

Fideltin knew the games his wife played, but he didn't rise to the bet. Not today, when he had _stuff_ to worry about. “Didn’t your Aunt say she’d be in town today? It’s nearly 1300.”

Rona smirked, but returned her focus to the varactyls. “Which aunt? I only have about three. But yes, Aunt Cal’edra and Uncle Aric are in town today, but it’s for Army reasons. They did invite us to have a few drinks at the Dealer’s Den, but I promised that I’d extend the invite to you before confirming.”

Rona was maneuvering the varactyls towards the balcony, where their nest actually was. Nuleoba and Itaio, the woodland and coastal varactyls, weren’t struggling so much, but Clirnye'ata, of the cavern variety, was trying to buck out of Ronadia’s hold. Clirnye'ata swished her tail, and ended up cutting it badly on a piece of transparisteel, resulting in a shriek. Rona and Fideltin winced in sympathy, and Rona shook her head at Clirnye'ata.

“That’s your own fault, dear,” she shouted. However, in an aside to Fideltin, she sighed with irritation. “I’m going to have to clean that up, which means I can’t go, and I know you dislike going to the Dealer’s Den on your own, because it’s not your type of scene, and just-" she exhaled harshly, as if to burn the frustration out of her lungs.

Fideltin shrugged. “It doesn’t matter. Havoc Squad isn’t going anywhere for another few days, so there’s always tomorrow. Besides, I’ll help you.”

Rona looked at him skeptically from the corner of her eyes. “You hate taking care of the varactyls. They always try and stab you with their beaks, and their feathers make you sneeze.”

“Because I know that this will be an embarrassing story to tell your mother and sister.”

Her wave of brown hair swished audibly behind her as she turned her head suddenly to look at him. “You wouldn’t.”

“I would.”

“Okay, well, I know for a fact that that mess over there was entirely YOUR fault!” Rona gestured vaguely towards the kitchen as she began to levitate the transparisteel into the disposal. “ _And_ I have photo evidence, so there’s no use denying it.”

“You wouldn’t. I was trying to bake you a cake.”

“Yes, but you looked so very amusing covered in flour, I wanted to preserve the moment for eternity.” Rona wrapped her arms around Fideltin, smiling at him slyly. “You’re lucky I love you.”

“Yeah, I am.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The matriarchial Zhang Family is a bunch of snobs when it comes to their varactyls, which is ironic, because their LIs usually dislike the noble steeds.


	6. "I can't believe I'm sitting in space jail with you, of all people." Sey'chell(SW) & Di'zana(Smug)

Sey’chell’s first conscious thought was, _Death smells much more horrible than I thought it did_. The aromas of at least thirty different kinds of alcohol were present in the air, and that was on top of the general stink of blood, sweat, and miscellaneous other bodily fluids. It then occurred to her that death smelled a lot like Nar Shaddaa, or perhaps it was just that Nar Shaddaa smelled a lot like Death. That, plus the fact that her head was pounding and she seemed to be laying on some kind of bench, increased the probability that she was not actually dead to a level of _this might actually be the case_ -likelihood

Upon opening her eyes, Chell was met largely with the colour grey, and she was rather puzzled by this phenomena, until her brain realised that she was probably just staring at the ceiling. Sey’chell then sat up, then turned to lean on the wall behind her. The aching pulse in her head increased intensity, to the point that her vision clouded over slightly.

“Oh, good, you’re awake,” somebody said, and Chell instinctively went for the lightsaber at her hip. The voice was female and had a distinctly Republic accent, and Chell was ready to be on the defensive… right up until she realised that she had no weapon on her, and her vision cleared, bringing the speaker into view.

The woman who spoke was a Twi’lek with bright yellow skin, which made it hard to look at her face. She was dressed in the casual leather armour of a smuggler or privateer, and the twin holsters at her hips were conspicuously empty. Sey’chell tried to focus on the Twi’lek’s face, attempting to ignore the blinding brightness of her skin. The headband she wore was plain leather and dull brass, and sat low on her forehead. Her eyes were violet, and seemed distinctly familiar…

Chell tried to speak, then cleared her throat. “Di’zana? Di’zana Zhang?”

“That’s me,” the Twi’lek agreed ruefully. “Y’know, I cannot be _lieve_ I am sitting in space jail with _you_ of all people. Callie and Rala are going to have our heads once we get out of here.”

The thought of their sisters seeing them this way made Chell snort with amusement, but she clutched her head at the recoil in her sinuses. “Speak for yourself,” she groaned. “Vette isn’t going to let me live this down for at least six months, and Quinn is going to have kittens when he finds out what we did. Um… what did we do anyway, Zana?”

Di’zana gave her a look. “Better question, Chell: how much do you remember?”

Furrowing her eyebrows, Sey’chell answered hesitantly, “...leaving the third bar. Was it really on fire, or am I misremembering?”

“It was definitely on fire,” Di’zana assured her, with a slightly manic smile on her face. She began to tick off the items on her fingers, and with each digit, Chell felt more and more alarmed. “So, after that, we carved up a few holo-trees and their emitters, we played some baseball with a thermal emitter and the Force, I’m pretty sure I lied to an Imperial Intelligence operative and got away with it while you were singing a Chiss aria at the top of your lungs. Oh! And _then_ , we followed this shady-looking spice-user to his supplier, and killed the supplier. You tried to give the user a stern talking to, but you were still waving your lightsaber around, so I just gave him a medpac and knocked him out for the night.” She nodded emphatically at that last line, which made her lekku bounce slightly, causing her to wince.

“So, in conclusion, we have caused enough property damage to make an insurance company whimper and embarrassed ourselves in front of an Imperial operative, but at least we killed a drug dealer in the end?” Chell summarised, deadpan expression on her face the whole time.

“...pretty much, yeah.”

“We should have pub crawls more often,” Sey’chell declared, and D’izana nodded in agreement, grinning widely.


	7. Eyes- Setrala (ImpAgent)/Vector

Setrala supposed that it was his eyes that surprised her first. Most humanoid species had pupils, irises and those white parts of their eyes- all species, that was, but the Chiss. That saying about your eyes being the windows to your soul was all too true; the little circles of colour betrayed a target’s inner thoughts with ease. It almost made the job _boring_.

Setrala had expected her contact to be the same, but she was very, very happily surprised. It was unexpected, to be sure, to see eyes of solid darkness on a human face, (and such a finely-crafted face,) but Vector made it work. His eyes gave him the air of mystique that Setrala never got from humans, and his lilting voice- _goodness_ , his voice.

The attraction may have been instantaneous, but Setrala hadn't expected the mystique to continue. Frankly, she hadn't expected Vector to give her an ultimatum at House Cortess, his eyes daring her to guess his reasons, his thoughts, like she would with any other human. His naturally soothing voice didn't betray him either, with the semi-formal grace that Setrala assumed was his diplomatic charm dialled all the way to maximum. For once in absolute ages, Setrala was excited, due to both Vector and the situation. The baroness was dead, Baron Payar was quaking where he stood, and Vector watched her with his delightful void-like eyes. Setrala hardly noticed that her heart was beating faster than usual, either either adrenaline or something else, she neither knew nor cared. She felt giddy, generous, and she found that she couldn't be bothered by giving House Cortess away, simply because it was Vector who asked for it.

Setrala was even more delighted to find that Keeper was in a gift-giving mood as well. She _grinned_ outright when Keeper assigned Vector to her crew, and Keeper’s eyes read _pleased_ and _amused_ in response, while the set of his shoulders said _proud._ Really, Setrala mused, Keeper was the best father figure a girl like her could ask for.

In any case, Rala showed Vector around the _G'et'asi K'in'cuci_ herself, grinning all the while. Both Kaliyo and Toovee asked her if she was alright, and Setrala merely grinned widely in response. Kaliyo rolled her eyes in amused understanding, while Toovee was very grateful that she was in a positive mood. It wasn’t until Setrala was alone in her room that she considered that there may be something wrong with her. Hadn’t her hands trembled just the slightest, as if she was vibrating from the inside out? And Setrala’s cheeks hurt, because she hadn’t smiled like that in _months._


	8. "You're awful." "You love it." Sey'chell(SW)/Malavai Quinn

The droning voice of the Thul noble continued his speech right on past the half an hour mark, much to the displeasure of the entire House, as well as their guests. Lord Sey'chell Zhang's head drooped, chin coming down to touch her collarbone, and she jerked upward. Her red eyes narrowed, and if she had irises and pupils, she'd have rolled her eyes.

Next to her, Captain Malavai Quinn leaned toward her by just a few millimetres and murmured under his breath, "If I had known you were suffering from hypersomnia, my lord, I would have given you something for it on the ship." His expression was one of utmost sincerity, but his tone was just a dry as Tatooine, and Sey'chell had to fight not to smile.

"This condition flares up with very little warning, Captain," Sey'chell muttered in reply. "How was I to know that four hours of speeches would bring this curse upon my head? And on Life Day, to boot?"

On Sey'chell's right, Vette said, "At least there's drinks and dancing afterward. Nobles can actually have fun on Life Day, right?"

"Supposedly," Sey'chell drawled, disguising yet another yawn behind her hand.

The almost ironically cheerful chirping of a holocom rang through the House Thul dining hall, and every guest immediately sat up straighter. Several nobles discreetly checked their own devices, but Sey’chell was still except for the smile slowing growing on her face. Vette bit her lip sharply to hold in a laugh, and Malavai sighed, an overdramatically put-upon expression on his face. With a flourish, Sey’chell presented her loudly chirping holocom, and proudly pressed “connect.”

“Lord Zhang!” cried the Sith apprentice on the holocom. They held the com in their left hand and periodically blasted something off screen with lightning.

Sey’chell raised her eyebrows benevolently, looking every inch the immaculate Lord. “Yes, Arden?”  

“I’ve lost control of ectoplasm samples from the tomb of Exar Kun, my lord, and it’s mutated into… something!”

A faint vibration came over the connection, a faint buzzing that reminded Sey’chell uncannily of visiting her mother’s workplace. Strangely enough, the presence of creatures made entirely from malcontent and horror was fairly easy to simulate over a com channel.

“That’s very inconvenient, isn’t it?” remarked Quinn dryly. “Should we head back, my lord, to contain the damage?”

Chell sighed and threw her hands in the air. “We might as well, Captain. You know how Darth Nox gets when the Exar Kun division gets like this. Darth Baras loans me out to Darth Nox regularly," she informed whichever noblewoman was sitting across from her. "Trying to curry her favour, I think. In any case," she declared as she stood up, "I must be leaving. Captain, Vette, with me.” She turned on her heel, and managed to keep her posture absolutely straight until she was outside of the room.

As soon as Chell reached the speeders, she leaned against hers, finally letting her laughter out in peals that echoed through the empty streets. Vette laughed along with her, mirthful gasps for air rendered her nearly unable to stand. Only Quinn retained his balance and, rolling his eyes at the both of them, swung himself up onto his speeder.

“None of us has had anything to drink,” Vette gasped out, “But Cap is still the designated driver.”

Chell choked on air with that, and she felt actually tears trying to leak out of her eyes. Wiping at her eyes, she fought for control of her body, conquering all but the muscles that kept the surely-inane-looking grin on her face.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> That call is an automated recording that Za'alia- Darth Nox -made to get herself out of meetings that she found useless and needlessly boring. The Council has seen it so many times, that they already know it's fake.   
> Acolyte Arden is now a minor lordling, happily riddling out the reason behind that particular ectoplasm incident. They have no idea that this recording exists, and hopefully never will.


End file.
